


Banana Peppers and Shoelaces

by ModernWizard



Series: The Happy Famverse [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: "Contact.", "Master.", Banana + pepper, Banana pepper, Calming Each Other Down, Consensual Kink, Custard Creams, F/M, Fluff, Food, Gen, Grace embarrasses Ryan, Graham doesn't quite get the word kinky, Humor, In a very caring but also quite kinky way, It was so much fun inventing games for them based on what we know about them, Kinky Doctor, Kinky Master, Neurodivergent Doctor, Neurodivergent Master, Other, Talking each other down, The Master's STUPID shoes, The Master's shoelaces, Whatever happened with Graham and Grace and the pennywhistle?!, Will the world ever know?!, Yaz has a crush on the Doctor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23551027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ModernWizard/pseuds/ModernWizard
Summary: The Doctor fixes her custard cream machine, then turns her formidable intellect to a new challenge: the Master's shoelaces. More extended exploration of how their brains work. Acts of patience and wuvs. Mild kinkiness. Yaz, Ryan, Graham, and Grace aren't sure what to make of it.
Relationships: Grace O'Brien/Graham O'Brien, Thirteenth Doctor & Grace O'Brien, Thirteenth Doctor & Graham O'Brien, Thirteenth Doctor & Ryan Sinclair, Thirteenth Doctor & Yasmin Khan, Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan), Yasmin Khan & The Master (Dhawan)
Series: The Happy Famverse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1694899
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Banana Peppers and Shoelaces

**Author's Note:**

> Ever since I noticed how horribly, furiously knotted the Master's shoelaces are, I've been wondering if he ever makes such wretched knots that he can't undo them. Then I imagined the Master just overwhelmed with annoyance, the Doctor totally getting it, and then her helping him. And it was very sweet, and this is the result.

_ [INT. THE DOCTOR’S TARDIS. Sitting room. THE MASTER is sitting stiffly in a recliner, shoulders hunched, hands jammed down into pockets. The extended footrest supports his legs, which are stretched out rigid, straight, and perfectly parallel. He is glaring at something about a body’s length away, possibly his shoes.] _

_ [THE DOCTOR frolics in with goggles perched atop her head and a leather carpenter’s apron over her usual gear. Spinning around on one foot with sheer glee, she sticks the landing, reaches into the pockets of her apron with both hands, pulls out a dozen or so custard cream, and fans them out, waving them over her head like winning flushes.] _

**THE DOCTOR:** I did it! Woo hoo! Guess what, Master? I fixed the custard cream maker. You know how I jumped out of bed last night and said, ‘Eureka!’ so loud that you nearly fell off the mattress and then belted me with your pillow? Well, it really was a eureka moment — and not just because I said, ‘Eureka!’ Although that was definitely part of it. The other part was that I… _ [dramatic pause]  _ had…  _ [dramatic pause]  _ an idea!  _ [She awaits the inevitable standing ovation. The audience of one remains seated. Undeterred, THE DOCTOR continues with grand hand gestures.]  _ The most brilliant brainstorm in the history of the universe! Okay, well, maybe the galaxy. And maybe not in history, although  _ definitely _ within the last five years. Although I have to admit that Pokemon Go  _ was _ a genius move. 

**THE DOCTOR CONT.:** Anyway, so I was sleeping, but my brains were working. Always working, my brains! Never stop. When I don’t have anything to think about, I start think about thinking. Then I start thinking about how I can think better, and then I think that I have to rethink  _ everything.  _ Then I wake up, thinking, Wait a minute! What the heck? Why am I thinking  _ this _ way? The last time I checked, the suppressed grief was  _ behind _ my overinflated sense of self-worth, not three shelves away! And it takes me like a day or two to stop barking my shins on the corners of my own mind.

**THE DOCTOR CONT.:** Okay! So! What was I talking about? I was talking about thinking, wasn’t I? Why was I talking about thinking? Oh yeah, because I was thinking about talking to you about how I thought that I could improve the custard cream maker. Right, thank you, brains. Glad you’re keeping up today.  _ [Nods politely, as if passing brains in the street.] _

**THE DOCTOR CONT.:** Well, to make a short story long, the answer suddenly came to me! Like a pillow to the head! ‘Self,’ I said to myself, ‘what if the rear flange capacitor is disconnected from the sixth grommet of the A-stem? If that’s the case, then all you have to do is invert the transmutase activator, reroute the liquid nitrogen  _ through _ the remaining grommets, and then viola! You have a stringed instrument!’ Um...no...wait. Voila! Yes, voila! A functional custard cream maker! Also I think I finally perfected my banana pepper flavor.  _ [Stuffs custard creams in mouth, talks around them.]  _ Wanna try?

_[THE DOCTOR_ _bounces over to THE MASTER and gives him some biscuits with the hand that she just put in her mouth. Instinctive revulsion moves across THE MASTER’S_ _face — not because of THE DOCTOR,_ _but because he knows where her hand has just been. He lurches slightly as if to recoil, but quickly suppresses both that and his expression of disgust. Ultimately he shakes his head and smiles a bit. His eyes grow even bigger than usual as he watches THE DOCTOR, and it’s very clear that he considers occasional saliva contact a small price to pay for the possession of HIS DOCTOR.]_

**THE MASTER:** Sure. Thanks.  _ [He crunches one down in a single gulp. Then he arches his spine and flings his head forward in a cataclysmic, full-body sneeze.]  _ WAAAAAAAAACHOOOOO!!!  _ [Holds remaining custard cream about two centimeters from his nose, squints at it.]  _ By the shriveled balls of Rassilon, what  _ is _ this? 

**THE DOCTOR** _[cheerily,_ _around another mouthful]:_ Banana pepper custard cream!

**THE MASTER:** I’m all for experimental flavors, love, but that was  _ not _ banana pepper. That was frozen allergies — or a nasal bomb — or a gastronomic implosion — or — hey, wait a minute.  _ [Sniff sniff. His nose flares and almost writhes, but in a very eloquent way.] _ This isn’t banana pepper custard cream. This is  _ banana custard cream _ with  _ pepper! _

**THE DOCTOR** _ [spitting out the latest mouthful, scrutinizing it with a nose scrunch, then putting it back in her mouth with a shrug]:  _ Huh. That’s why it tastes a little funny. Well, if you don’t want yours, I’ll take it.

**THE MASTER** _[staring off into middle distance again, so morose that he doesn’t even react to THE DOCTOR’S questionable table manners]:_ Take it. It didn’t even budge my socks.

**THE DOCTOR:** Uh, no, custard creams are not generally used as stocking lubricant. What are you talking about?

**THE MASTER:** Well, I thought the new and improved custard cream would be impressive enough to knock my socks off, but  _ [extra sarcastic]  _ nooooooo. My stupid socks and my stupid shoes are still on my stupid feet, and I still have the same problem I did five minutes ago.  _ [Beat.]  _ Stupid.

**THE DOCTOR:** Did you just call me stupid?

**THE MASTER** _[sullenly, arms crossed]:_ No, I just added an extra one in there in case I didn’t have enough.

**THE DOCTOR:** Oh, that makes sense.  _ [Stuffs the rest of the custard creams in her mouth, nodding in agreement.]  _ You can never have too many adjectives handy, even if they’re all copies of the same one. Because sometimes you just need a good hearty ‘stupid’ or seventeen. Um, so what’s the problem? I said I was gonna go work on the custard creams, and you said you were gonna go work on adapting the TCE to shrink the amount of nonsense in Boris Johnson’s head, which is a lost cause, if you ask me, but you didn’t ask me, so you said you were going to your thinking chair to talk about it with yourselves.

**THE DOCTOR CONT.:** So there you are, in your thinking chair, but you don’t look like you’re thinking, which means that something went wrong between the sitting and the thinking. And that means — oh no!  _ [Eyes wide, hands clapped to cheeks.] _ Are you not talking to yourselves? Is that the problem? Is it the Painful One who clammed up then and started stomping around and stewing? Or is the Little Purple Tartan Jerk being...well, a jerk again? Or maybe the Spy is getting his mope on? Or — oh no — are they  _ all _ pouting? Where does that leave you? I mean —  _ what _ does that leave you? Oh right — the Postcolonialist.  _ [Saunters over. Sits casually on arm rest of recliner.]  _ Hey, Postcolonialist! How’s your intersectional feminism doing these days?  _ [Catches a glimpse of THE MASTER giving her a death glare, complete with death eyeball and death eyebrow.]  _ Mmm, whoops, probably not a good question to ask at the moment.

**THE MASTER** _[switching off the glare and sighing]:_ My intersectional feminism is, at the moment, stupid, along with the rest of me. _[Mutters indistinctly.]_

**THE DOCTOR:** What?

_[THE MASTER_ _mutters indistinctly again, head down.]_

**THE DOCTOR:** What?

**THE MASTER:** _ MY SHOELACES!!! _

**THE DOCTOR:** What about ‘em? Good ol’ quadruple knots as always!  _ [Does double thumbs up. Looks more closely.] _ Or is that quintuple?

**THE MASTER:** _ THEY’RE TIED!!! _

**THE DOCTOR:** Okay. Yeah. Noted. You definitely have shoelaces, and they are definitely tied. They’re also apparently stupid.  _ [She hops off the arm rest and squats by his chair, head cocked, voice soft.]  _ Master?

**THE MASTER** _[rounding on her, twisting his entire torso to face her, so angry that he’s shaking]:_ _WHAT???!!!!_

**THE DOCTOR** _[in firmer, steadier voice, not breaking eye contact]:_ Master.

**THE MASTER** _ [still shaking, but more voluntarily this time, as if to dispel his fury, voice still sharp, but not uncontrolled]: _ What?

**THE DOCTOR** _ [folding arms on arm rest, leaning forward a very small amount toward THE MASTER, voice growing in strength, but still even]:  _ Master.

**THE MASTER** _ [rolling his eyes]:  _ Hey, you know my name. Doctor! Look — I know yours too!

**THE DOCTOR** _ [absolutely still, calm, and unperturbed, speaking his name like it’s an entire sentence that tells him everything he needs to know]: _ Master.

_ [Beat. THE MASTER meets THE DOCTOR’S eyes, but barely — less eye contact and more of a slight grazing. Then he untwists, restoring himself to his previous seated position. THE MASTER glares down into the lower right quadrant of his vision; then his eyes flicker back to center, though still lowered.] _

**THE MASTER** _[with the slight snap of reluctance, but also with the relief of someone yielding up something that he didn’t know how to let go of]:_ Doctor.

**THE DOCTOR** _ [now smiling, voice gentling]: _ Hey.

**THE MASTER** _ [turning his head back to her, voice incredulous, still surprised that this works, even now]: _ Hey!

**THE DOCTOR** _ [saying that entire sentence with his name again, only now as an interrogative]:  _ Master?

**THE MASTER** _[nodding once, speaking the answer]:_ Doctor. _[He’s still now. As he only does when he’s still, he turns his eyes to THE DOCTOR and watches her without blinking or stinting, his pupils dilating further and further.]_

**THE DOCTOR** _ [standing smoothly]: _ Good. Hi. So — what about your shoelaces?  _ [Leans nonchalantly against the wall, legs crossed at ankle.]  _ I hear they’re stupid. And tied. Tell me more!

**THE MASTER** _[sighing, hanging his head]_ : Do you ever just — ever just feel something so hard that it just — just takes over and yells louder than any other voice in your head and drowns out all the outside voices, so there’s nothing but that feeling, just screaming _[pounds fists against temples, not hard, not for pain, but for emphasis],_ screaming _[pounds],_ screaming _[pounds]_ — screaming through you — it’s in your hearts, instead of the blood _[both hands over hearts]_ — it’s in your mind, instead of the thoughts _[both hands clenched in hair]_ — it’s wrapped around your bones, instead of the muscles _[crossing legs and arms, drawing up almost into fetal position]_ — so you can’t think — you can’t breathe — you can’t move — and you just feel so — so — so _stupid?_

**THE DOCTOR** _[chin in hand, forefinger tapping lips, cogitating deeply]:_ Well, you know I don’t do feelings the way you do — 

**THE MASTER** _[unrolling into previous supine position, rolling his eyes in an old gibe]_ : Yeah. You don’t _do_ feelings.

**THE DOCTOR** _[pacing, ignoring him]:_ — So obviously I don’t know _exactly_ what it’s like to feel that way. But I do know about being obsessed and being so _stuck_ in that obsession that I can’t do anything but obsess and I don’t even notice anything around me. So, uh, yeah! _[Halts suddenly, pivots ninety degrees toward THE MASTER.]_ Put me down for a definite maybe on that question.

**THE MASTER** _ [very dryly]: _ It was a rhetorical question.

**THE DOCTOR** _[truly dejected, flopping her arms down by her sides]:_ It was? See — I never can tell with you. I think we need some sort of sign or signal. Oooh! I know! _[Actually jumps.]_ How about a nice purple pennant with a tartan _R_ on it? You wave it whenever you’re asking a rhetorical question, and then I’ll know not to take you seriously. Awww yeah, I’m brilliant! _[Pumps fist.]_

**THE MASTER** _[chuckling]:_ No, rhetorical questions are the ones you _want_ to take seriously. It’s just that the person who asks them usually doesn’t expect an answer.

**THE DOCTOR:** Ugh. _[Tosses head, scrunches nose.]_ Figures of speech just confuse me. I think we should all go to a pennant-based communication system. Like semaphore, but with more — you know _[elaborate hand gesture]_ — _flair!_ ‘Your Honor, if I may make a closing statement…’ _[Starts to do modern dance. Turns to THE MASTER.]_ I know I don’t have flags, but just imagine them, okay?

**THE MASTER:** Anyway,  _ that’s  _ how I’m feeling about my shoelaces.

**THE DOCTOR:** Oh? You’re feeling  _ [dances last few measures of her modern dance] _ about your shoelaces?

**THE MASTER:** No, more like — RRRRRRRGGGHHH!!  _ [Slams both fists on arm rests while convulsing back and forth in seat and grimacing exaggeratedly.] _

**THE DOCTOR:** Okay, so why are you pissed at your shoelaces?  _ [Quits dancing, inspects THE MASTER’S shoes, scratches head.] _ They look fine to me. A little bit ‘attack of the worms in a spaghetti factory,’ but that’s usual.

**THE MASTER** _[gritting teeth, getting worked up again, muttering, speaking aside]_ : Worms? Spaghetti? Why is it always weird evasive metaphors — ? Why can’t you just come right out and _say — ?_ No. _[Shakes head, flips hair out of eyes.]_ Because that’s not how her mind works. Why take a straight shot from point A to point B, all quick and clean and efficient, when you can wander off into some sort of endlessly meandering Moebius?! _[Huff. Rolls eyes. Speaking again to THE DOCTOR.]_ Okay, well, you know I do my best thinking when I’m comfortable — 

**THE DOCTOR:** Which means either speed-walking and acting out about six monologues simultaneously — or melting into a chair and  _ pondering _ so hard that your eyebrows get stuck like this.  _ [Raises outer corners of eyebrows and squishes inners together so that they nearly meet over her nose.] _

**THE MASTER:** Pfft! What are you talking about? They obviously get stuck like this.  _ [Squiggles eyebrows. The left nearly approaches a slip knot. The right launches into the upper reaches of the stratosphere.] _ So, anyway, I tried to find a comfortable position — 

**THE DOCTOR:** Yeah, I can tell.  _ [Nods with expression of sympathetic concern.]  _ Your hair’s doing that thing where it’s not even flopping anymore. I think it passed out.

**THE MASTER:** Will you shut up? I was headed for a riveting narrative climax until you interrupted! My pacing was perfect!

**THE DOCTOR** _[clenching fists and leaning forward]:_ I’m doing my active listening! I’m making supportive remarks and reflecting back to you what you said so that you know I’m paying attention. Which I am. Hmmm, what if the _pennant_ was tartan and the _R_ was purple?

**THE MASTER** _[facepalming, heels of hands in eye sockets]:_ Monologuing is not a two-person activity!

**THE DOCTOR:** Wait...you’re monologuing?

**THE MASTER** _[gritting teeth]:_ Well, I’m _trying._

**THE DOCTOR:** I thought we were having a conversation! Cheater.

**THE MASTER:** I’m a cheater? 

**THE DOCTOR:** Yeah! You cheated! We were having a conversation, and then you secretly turned it into a monologue  _ and didn’t tell me. _ You can’t just pull the rug out from under the goalposts like that!  _ [Folds arms, turns one hundred and eighty degrees away from THE MASTER, speaking over her shoulder.] _ Just for that, I’m not going to talk to you for the next five minutes.  _ [Beat.] _ Um, okay. Maybe three.  _ [Turns back around.] _

**THE MASTER:** Wonderful. I’ll make the most of it. Anyway, I tried to find a good position, but something was always bothering me. Just when I’d settle down — _zap!_ _[Jumps as if electrocuted.]_ I’d get a hit of your inspiration. 

**THE DOCTOR** _[lowering voice, narrowing eyes, stalking forward]:_ _My_ inspiration?

**THE MASTER:** Or just when I thought I was getting somewhere — _rrrrt!_ _[Flings torso forward in seat as if at sudden stop.]_ Screeching halt because you were frustrated. 

**THE DOCTOR:** _My_ frustration?

**THE MASTER** _[oblivious to THE DOCTOR’S mounting fury]:_ And then the usual misaligned books, asymmetrical holes in the walls — all that _[flapping hands, shaking them loose at the wrist]_ visual _noise,_ you know. _[Notices something. Snaps to attention, swiveling head toward trousers.]_ _SHIT!_ Why are my trouser cuffs uneven again? Why? I used carpet staples on them just so I wouldn’t have this problem. Okay, that’s it. Next time I’m using super glue.

**THE DOCTOR:** Hey! Cheater! Did you just blame all of _your_ problems on _my_ feelings? I bet I should repress ‘em all. Is that what you want? _[She flings herself bodily at THE MASTER,_ _grabbing both sides of his collar and pulling him forward while shaking him.]_ Huh? Huh? 

**THE MASTER** _[raising arms, perhaps to surrender, perhaps to push her away]:_ What?! Ow!

**THE DOCTOR** _[sneering within several centimeters of his nose]:_ Then there won’t be any to _zap_ you or _rrrt_ you, and you can do all your thinking in _peace!_

_ [THE DOCTOR lets go of THE MASTER, dropping his lapels with such force that he falls back against the chair with a small bounce. She kneels astride him, her hair all cockeyed, her lips peeled back from her teeth, breathing hard.] _

**THE MASTER:** Doctor!  _ [Snaps once in her face.] _ Look at me!

**THE DOCTOR** _[continuing in a sarcastic singsong as if THE MASTER hasn’t spoken]:_ And then, as an added bonus, you can swan about — 

**THE MASTER:** Look at _me._ Focus on _me._ _[He hooks one hand around the back of THE DOCTOR’S neck, pulling her down toward him.]_

**THE DOCTOR** _[bowing her head slightly, voice dropping and flattening, still resentful, but slightly muted]:_ Talking about how you’re so in touch with your stupid emotions, just because you shed some stupid tears occasionally, but some of us can’t because some of us don’t know where they are — 

**THE MASTER** _ [pulling THE DOCTOR closer, scanning her downturned face]: _ Look at me. Look at your Master.

**THE DOCTOR** _[almost inaudibly]:_ Probably stuck under a rock or something… That is, if I have any at all…

_[THE DOCTOR’S eyes flicker around for a few seconds, but she finally meets THE MASTER’S gaze. They hold each other steadily as a key and a lock, though it is impossible to tell which is which. THE MASTER_ _smiles, his eyes wide and seemingly all pupil.]_

**THE MASTER:** Ah. Yes. _Contact._ _[He brings THE DOCTOR’S forehead to rest against his. He exhales, closing his eyes.]_

**THE DOCTOR:** _Contact._ _[She sighs too, her eyes closed.]_

_ [The two of them, reflecting each other’s stances, magnifying each other’s tranquility, are, for once in a very long while, still.] _

**THE MASTER** _[opening his eyes, smiling]:_ Good? _[He brings his hands down from THE DOCTOR’S neck.]_

**THE DOCTOR** _[pulling away, rocking back so that her weight is distributed between her haunches and his pelvic girdle]:_ Better. _[Flash of a smile. Tucks hair behind ears, which does nothing for its messiness.]_ Thanks.

**THE MASTER:** Well?  _ [Single eyebrow up.] _

**THE DOCTOR:** Thank you,  _ Master. [There’s a certain way that THE MASTER says his name, as if every single syllable tastes good, particularly the S, and it’s just so delicious that you have to smile when you say it. That’s how THE DOCTOR says it now. There’s a glint in her eye and a pop in her eyebrow, and it’s clearly a game, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less true. All roles have always been true to them.] _

**THE MASTER:** Excellent. Now get off me.  _ [With a careless motion, he shoves THE DOCTOR, who rolls off the chair, over the arm rest, and lands on the floor in a squat.]  _ Next time, try  _ not _ kneeling on my bladder. For fuck’s sake, who trained you?  _ [Cracks back, stretches out, settles back.]  _ And I wasn’t blaming you, by the way. 

**THE DOCTOR:** Sorry — what? Couldn’t hear you. Too busy getting thrown overboard _from my favorite chair._ _[Stands up, kicks chair frame viciously.]_

**THE MASTER** _[ostentatiously putting hands behind head]:_ You didn’t get the memo? There was a mutiny, and I’m the new captain of this fine vessel, H.M.S. Not-Your-Chair-Anymore.

**THE DOCTOR:** Just you wait. I’ll be back with the white whale. And the sharks. And the whale sharks. You won’t stand a chance!  _ [Beat.] _ You weren’t blaming me for what? 

**THE MASTER:** Your feelings were bothering me, but I wasn’t blaming you for having them. You know how I _feel._ _[He flaps his hands and agitates his whole body loosely, kind of like he’s being shaken to pieces.]_ You know how sometimes I’m talking to myself so much that I don’t hear other people talking to me?

**THE DOCTOR:** Yeah. Frequently.

**THE MASTER:** Well, it’s like that, only reversed. 

**THE DOCTOR** _[standing still, scrunching nose]:_ Reversed? So it’s _[mouths something to herself]_ the other people who are talking so much that you can’t hear your own selves talking to you?

  
  


**THE MASTER:** Yeah, no, right.  _ [Nods. Shakes head. Does both at the same time. Gets dizzy. Stops.]  _ You know how easy it is for me to lose myself in the details. Oh! That texture  _ [rubs thumb slowly along fingers, as if feeling fabric]  _ of their thoughts… And these! The shapes of their feelings... The taste  _ [a sighing whisper, tilts head back, opens mouth, runs tongue along inside of top teeth] _ of their impulses, and then —  _ [He breaks off, curling into a little ball.] _

_ [THE DOCTOR, head cocked, observes THE MASTER intently, with curiosity, but without alarm. She knows that he’s describing something that he has felt in the past, not something that he’s currently experiencing; she pays very close attention because he speaks with his entire body, so every gesture is important to understand the whole.]  _

**THE MASTER CONT.** _[voice muffled since he’s in a ball]:_ It’s all too much! Takes me over! Nothing but _their_ thoughts! Nothing but _their_ pain! _[Uncoils, eyes pressed tightly shut, waves hands around crown of head, as if chasing off bugs.]_ Nothing but — nothing but a mass of empty, stupid, vacuous, senseless _others!_

_[THE MASTER_ _rests his hands, but his eyes remain closed as he looks inward.]_

**THE MASTER CONT.** _[speaking softly]:_ There is no me anymore. None of me left. They all drowned, washed away in the flood, swallowed up and eaten by ravenous foreign voices. All that remains is one small part, abandoned, alone, divorced, without hope or help or other selves. And my skull fills with that — that — that hurricane, that titanic typhoon, that shipwreck catastrophe of all the voices _that aren’t mine…_ And that small part of me that remains, so small, so single, so alone that it’s barely even a self — it flutters; it founders; it smothers; it sinks; it...ends.

**THE DOCTOR** _[shaking her head slightly]:_ So glad I’m a rubbish telepath. _[She takes THE MASTER’S nearest hand in hers and squeezes it. She speaks with slight uncertainty, as if she doubts that he might respond.]_ ...Contact?

**THE MASTER** _ [opening his eyes and giving a small smile]: _ Contact.  _ [THE DOCTOR squeezes his hand harder and beams, grateful that he’s come out of that re-enactment.] _ Yeah, I’m glad you’re a rubbish telepath too.  _ [Looking up.]  _ Don’t know what I’d do if you had my psychic powers.  _ [Drops eyes for a conclusion.]  _ Probably kill you just for the peace and quiet. Or would I?  _ [Eyes up to the ceiling.]  _ Maybe I wouldn’t because then you’d be — you know — dead.  _ [Eyes to the side, squinting.]  _ But if I could develop some sort of autonomous self-replicating subroutine that provided an incentive for your silence and subservience — 

**THE DOCTOR** _ [yelling into THE MASTER’S ear]: _ I’m right here, and I can hear every single word of your not-at-all-internal monologue or dialogue or whatever it is!!! Stop thinking so loudl!!!

**THE MASTER** _[with a belated, exaggerated startle reflex]:_ Wow! Thanks for the chronic, acute tinnitus! Well, anyway, despite my best efforts, other people’s feelings occasionally… invade...mine, but that’s not your fault. It just means that my shields aren’t strong enough.

**THE DOCTOR:** Feelings aren’t the enemy, you know.

**THE MASTER:** You’d be more convincing saying that, love, if you believed it yourself.

**THE DOCTOR** _[back on the arm rest of H.M.S. Not-Your-Chair-Anymore]:_ So what were we talking about before our little kinky moment there?

**THE MASTER:** Relationship goals. I believe yours was — ah yes — ‘complete submission and utter obedience’ to me, as well as — _[THE DOCTOR elbows THE MASTER, shutting him up.]_ Okay! Okay! I get your point. I’ll add ‘regular infliction of excruciating pain’ to the list too.

**THE DOCTOR:** It was either purple pennants or a spaghetti factory.  _ Liar. _

**THE MASTER:** I’m gonna turn _you_ into a purple pennant.

**THE DOCTOR:** Ooooh. Look at me. I’m so scared. Cowering. Frozen.

**THE MASTER:** Except for your mouth, unfortunately. I — oh. Yeah. Forget the witty remarks. I just wrap this up, shouldn’t I, before someone _[glares at the Doctor]_ drags us off on another tangent, huh? So — ah — yeah, anyway, I couldn’t make myself mentally comfortable, so I said, ‘Well, I’ll at least make myself physically comfortable.’ I did to a certain extent, but then I just ended up in this _[flaps hands]_ _stupid_ situation with my shoes. Oh! Ah hah! Hah hah hah hah hah! _[Raises both hands, snaps.]_ I guess you could say I’m a little tied up at the moment, couldn’t you? Yesssss, I finished the story _and_ made an atrocious pun! 

**THE DOCTOR:** Yay for you.  _ [She claps once. Then suddenly back to normal voice.]  _ Okay, um, I feel like I might be missing a little bit of the story. It could just be me and my fabulous brains, off on the tangent of pepper custard creams or whatever, but — correct me if I’m wrong — are you saying that you can’t untie your shoes?

**THE MASTER:** I’m saying that, after much wailing, gnashing of teeth, and rending of garments, I find my shoelaces imperviously knotted and my mental state thoroughly unequal to the challenge presented thereby.

**THE DOCTOR:** Hmmmmm...so you tried to untie your shoes and couldn’t, so you got so mad that now your shoes are even more tied and you’re too pissed to untie them?

**THE MASTER:** Maybe.  _ [Beat. Glares a hole in arm rest.]  _ Yes.

**THE DOCTOR:** Well, why didn’t you just say that in the first place? Hang on a mo; I’ve got just the thing!  _ [She hops up and hurries out of the room.] _

**THE MASTER:** Custard creams won’t help, you know! 

**THE DOCTOR:** No, but  _ this _ will.  _ [She returns with a metal skewer and assumes a fencing pose.] En garde! _

**THE MASTER** _[eyes popping]:_ You really don’t need to pin me to the chair. I can stay very, very still. I promise!

**THE DOCTOR:** This isn’t for you, silly! It’s for your shoelaces.

**THE MASTER:** You’re making shish kebabs out of my shoelaces?  _ [Raises self up on elbows.] _

**THE DOCTOR:** No. I’m wedging it in between the knots.

**THE MASTER:** Oh.  _ [He watches THE DOCTOR plunk down on the floor and do just that.]  _ That’s... That’s...not a bad idea.

**THE DOCTOR:** Course it’s not! Genius, me!  _ [Beat. Stabbing at shoelaces.]  _ Hah!  _ [Vindicated.] _ And  _ now _ do you see why I never let you tie me up? Well, not with rope at least.

**THE MASTER:** Hmmm?

**THE DOCTOR:** This isn’t a knot.  _ [Points at THE MASTER’S left shoe as if it personally offends her.]  _ This is some sort of recursive Moebius time/space fractal involution with quantum entanglement! Do you even tie your shoes? Or do you just curse them into staying on your feet?

**THE MASTER:** Less talking, more untying.  _ [Drapes forearm over face.]  _ You know why I didn’t tell you right off?

**THE DOCTOR** _[sarcastically]:_ Because you had to turn it into a big dramatic production, like you do with everything?

**THE MASTER:** Hey,  _ you  _ were the one who brought in the dance number! No but seriously — how stupid would my business cards look if they said ‘The Master of All Time and Space! Asterisk,’ and then, in 2 point font at the bottom, ‘(except his shoelaces}?’

**THE DOCTOR** _[pausing, head cocked]:_ You have business cards?

**THE MASTER:** They’re hypothetical.

**THE DOCTOR** : Are they hypothetically purple and glossy and really thick stock with an almost-black purple  _ M _ on them?

**THE MASTER:** Yes, and a little hypothetical hologram comes out of the center of the  _ M _ and says, ‘Call me Master!’

**THE DOCTOR:** You have a stack of those ‘hypothetical’ business cards in your wallet, don’t you?

**THE MASTER:** I may have...indulged...in...a few...samples.

**THE DOCTOR:** Ooooh, can I see the hologram? Love me a good hologram! 

**_[THE MASTER_ ** _ pulls a few business cards from his pocket and gives them to  _ **_THE DOCTOR,_ ** _ who spends three full minutes activating them, watching them, and laughing in delight.] _

**THE DOCTOR** _ [returning the business cards]:  _ Hey, know what? You shouldn’t be embarrassed about your shoelaces. 

**THE MASTER:** Why should I believe anything you say?

**THE DOCTOR:** Yeah, because you’re the Master of Time and Space, right? You’re above that kind of petty thing. Let your servants do it.  _ [She winks.] _

**_[YAZ, GRACE, RYAN, and GRAHAM_ ** _ all barge in, chattering blithely. They stop in the entry way as soon as they see _ **_THE DOCTOR and THE MASTER.]_ **

**YAZ:** Is the Doctor untying the Master’s shoes?! Well, that’s it. Unrequited. No chance whatsoever. Hopeless!  _ [Turns around like she’s gonna walk back out the door.] _

**GRACE:** You said the same thing when they had their first pillow fight. And when they reinvented the guillotine. And when he made her that weird purple thing for breakfast. You need a new crush object. _[Spins_ ** _YAZ_** _so that she’s pointing toward_ ** _RYAN.]_** Try my grandson.

**RYAN:** Gran!

**GRACE:** He’s tall, dark, handsome, smart, sensitive, charming — and, for bonus points, he’s the same age and species as you!

**RYAN:** That’s it. Gonna shrivel up and die. Right here. Right now.

**GRAHAM** _[arching an eyebrow at THE MASTER, a little bit concerned]:_ Can’t tie his own shoes, eh? Is that one of those twisty things?

**YAZ:** ‘Kinky.’ It’s ‘kinky.’

**RYAN:** Could be it’s just a dyspraxia thing.

**GRACE:** Or it could just be one of their weird little things. Every couple’s got ‘em, you know.  _ [She and  _ **_GRAHAM_ ** _ share a smirk and a sage nod.] _

**RYAN:** Like you and Graham and the pennywhistle? What’s  _ that _ all about?

**GRAHAM** _ [sighting a few experimental custard creams] _ : Ooooh, custard creams. Smells like banana!

**THE MASTER, YAZ, RYAN, and GRACE:** Graham, noooooo!  _ [THE DOCTOR doesn’t notice.] _

  
  
  



End file.
